Circles in the Dark
by Minuialeth
Summary: While Arthur sits vigil over his father, Merlin waits. Spoilers for 4x03 "The Wicked Day"


**CIRCLES IN THE DARK**

Beta: jelazakazone on LJ

Rating: PG

Spoilers : 4x03 "The Wicked Day"

Disclaimer: I do not own "Merlin"; the BBC and Shine do. I'm not making any money out of this, just enjoying myself. A lot.  
>No copyright infringement is intended.<p>

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><p>His arse should have felt numb from the cold by now, his back should have ached, and he should have had cramps in his legs. But he didn't feel anything. It was as if his body belonged to someone else.<br>He wished his mind was numb too but it kept running in circles, with no way out. He didn't seem to be able to fall into the blessed obliviousness of sleep either.  
>He remembered the last time he had sat here for hours before finally falling asleep, waiting for the Quest to be revealed to Arthur. It seemed like ages ago.<p>

Here it came again, that burning stab in his chest every time he thought about Arthur-from-Before. That's how he'd named the young Prince who hadn't lost his father, who didn't have the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, who could still be open-minded about magic.  
>He was mourning that man, his friend, as he was mourning the hope he's clung to for years: when Arthur was king, everything would change, he wouldn't have to hide who he was anymore, and he would be able to show his true self to Arthur.<br>Now in place of that bright future there was a gaping dark chasm. A voice in the back of his mind – suspiciously sounding like Gaius – was telling him that he was being selfish, and that Arthur being king meant a much better life for the people of Camelot.

He hadn't realised, until Arthur coldly told him that magic was evil, how much he had hung onto that hope, how much he had thought about the time when Arthur would be king. Each time he was belittled by people who only saw him as a servant, each time he couldn't step forth to claim the glory of his deeds, each time Arthur mocked him and it stung even if it wasn't really meant to.

Now even as his brain tried to grasp at straws, he knew he had nothing to cling to. He had been so, so close, had almost tasted the joy of the moment when he would have been able to tell his friend who he was, with the added bonus of having the ban on magic lifted.

Even when Uther had ceased to breathe, even when he had felt Arthur's pain, Merlin had never thought once he had completely turned Arthur against magic.  
>Before, where Uther had always been blinded by hatred and prejudice, his son had been willing to try and understand. Now…His heart constricted as he pictured a magic user being brought to King Arthur. What would he do?<br>Merlin shut his eyes as tightly as he could to erase the terrifying image of his friend standing on the castle balcony as someone was burned at the stake. He could feel his magic crackling to life inside him, as if reacting to his emotional turmoil. Nonononononono, it couldn't be, it could never happen. No. Not Arthur. Arthur wouldn't. Not the young man he had known for six years.  
>And if Arthur chose that road, what would he choose himself? Close his eyes and look away like Gaius? Let Arthur become the enemy Uther had been? He quickly closed the door to that path for he didn't have any answers right now, and he didn't want to have to ponder about this. Not now.<p>

If only he could go back in time, let Uther die from his wounds without trying anything… He squashed the niggling at the back of his mind. Trying to go back in time was probably very powerful magic, and even more probably a Very Bad Idea. He still remembered the last time he had tried to change the future, only ending up provoking it.

The more he turned all this in his mind, the more Merlin could see that from the very beginning, it was his fault. All of this was his fault. If he hadn't tried to prevent Morgana from killing Uther, if he had listened to the Dragon's advice and not saved her life, if he had told her he had magic maybe she wouldn't have turned to her sister, if he hadn't tried to poison her, if… if…  
>He had taken so many wrong turns he wasn't sure he could find the right path anymore. Maybe he wasn't really part of Albion's future. Maybe he was just meant to keep Arthur alive until he sat on the throne, and then supposed to step further back into the shadows. Maybe leave.<br>He tried to imagine himself back in Ealdor. As much as he loved his mother, his heart squeezed at the idea, seeming to shrink on itself.

There also was that feeling that had been growing slowly over the years, starting just after his arrival in Camelot, and his brutal realisation of how much the magic was banned there.

Until he had been slapped by the understanding that Arthur could very well be forever closed off to the idea of magic – by his fault – that feeling had been a vague notion, just something in the back of his mind. After all, once Arthur was king, it would only be a matter of time before magic was no longer outlawed.  
>But now… He had never told anything about that notion to Gaius because he dreaded the old man laughing at him. Or worse, confirming his theory.<br>What happened when magic was used by less and less people, for a long period of time? What happened if slowly, over decades, men forgot how to use it? Would it retreat deep into the fabric of the world, to be forever forgotten? Would it _die_ altogether? What of the magical creatures, would they disappear too? They were already dwindling after twenty years of Uther's vengeful reign. He had seen a unicorn only _once_ in his life, and Kilgharrah was the _last_ of his kind. He tried to picture a world where magic and magical creatures would be only myths, legends, tales, with no recollection that they had ever existed. He felt sadness so acute his magic seemed to shrink inside him, as if recoiling in horror.

If only he hadn't tried to hasten the lifting of the ban on magic, and for selfish motives at that...

Merlin realised his mind had gone in a circle once again, and still he saw no immediate answer.

Suddenly there was a sound his body seemed to recognize and it jerked of its own volition. The door. The door opening. A familiar shadow. Shadow?  
>When had the sun risen?<br>And a voice, achingly familiar, uttering his name.


End file.
